


you, after the battle we won.

by vantas



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Relationships, F/M, Post-Canon, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vantas/pseuds/vantas
Summary: In another time and another place, Diana allows Steve Trevor to leave.  This is not that story. (Or: Steve survives the war to end all wars, and scenes from the life Diana builds alongside him.)





	you, after the battle we won.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ljparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljparis/gifts).



> This was, hilariously, not one of the fandoms I originally signed up to write for — but as soon as I saw the prompts themselves? I knew I had to do this instead. It was too good to pass up. 
> 
> In any case, happy holidays! I hope you find it to your liking. :)

**00\. He leaves her in the watchtower.**

Their last conversation is a blistering, bleeding wound on his conscience.

It leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a growing pressure inside his chest, his heart jackhammering against his ribcage as he wonders if there's anything he could have said to have changed her mind. He had, unwittingly, come to depend upon Diana's help. Despite his initial frustrations, and despite the multitude of uncomfortable situations she had put him through — he had come to realize that he _needed_ her. They made a good team. Her unrelenting optimism in the face of adversity  perfectly complementing his grim realism; the bleak acceptance that things would never be as pleasant as mankind hoped, but _someone_ had to do something.  Someone had to make an effort, if they ever wanted things to be better.

Infected with that unrelenting optimism, he had begun to hope that _better_ was more of an eventuality than a faraway possibility.

But that optimism wasn't infallible.  It had its limits, like all things. And now Steve feels like he's back at square one.  Back to making due with what he had — which happened to be a whole lot of nothing.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have put his faith on someone who had hardly experienced the harshness of a world at war. Her distraught expression is still engraved on his mind. The phantom sensation of her skin underneath his gloved hands.  He had gripped her, desperate for her to understand that this is something that _needed_ to be done. Humanity had never been pure and wholesome, that falsity best left for children and story books, but that didn't mean that people had to die because of it. That didn't mean that the only answer was to give up; the will to try crushed under the undeniable reality that some people enjoy being cruel just because they can

He wanted her ( _needed her_ ) to come with him. He knew she was more than capable of bringing an end to this war once and for all, her recent feats more than proof of that. But—

( _"She was right," Diana had breathed out, her voice competing against the hubbub of the soldiers surrounding the area. "My mother was right. She said that the world of man did not deserve you. They don't deserve our help."_

_He argued with her.  He poured his heart out to her.  Put his disappointment over the nature of mankind on display for her._

_He still couldn't convince her to join them._

_And yet, he couldn't bring himself to blame her for it._ )

It didn't matter now.

"Where's Diana?" Sameer asks as they move beneath the watchtower, finding cover behind one of the beams that support it.

"She's not coming," Steve replies, each word feeling like concrete pushed through his teeth. "We're on our own."

He pretends not to hear Sameer's startled _what_ as he asks Charlie to scope out the area, dread settling into the pit of his stomach as they learn of the gas bombs. _Plural_. A single one had laid waste to a village, the lingering cloud of smoke more than enough to make his throat and lungs seize when he approached the area. Diana's anger and dismay had been equally as memorable, but for entirely different reasons.  But — he cannot think of Diana right now. Even with regret and disappointment weighting him down, he knows there are more important matters at hand.  The disillusion of a single woman pales in comparison. 

(Even if she is a woman who had, of course, saved his life on more than one occasion.

A woman who was more capable, more amazing, more beautiful than he could ever hope to put into words.

But still—

 _But still—_ )

Sameer has an idea.

There's a fifth set of footsteps behind them as they begin to move.

* * *

**01\. She tells him to wait.**

"Wait," she repeats, almost as if she didn't believe the words coming out of her own mouth. "I am coming with you."

Her shoulders are rigid.  Her hands are curled into tight fists, her nails digging into the skin on the palm of her hands.  Her lips are pressed into a fine line.  Every single detail screams of her distress and uneasiness — but she is here.  Even though things have not turned out the way she wanted them to, _she is here_.

Steve could kiss her, if it weren't for the fact their next course of actions will decide the fate of the world.

"Welcome aboard," he says.  Beside him, the others express their joy and relief. There is cheering. There is alleviated sighing.  But his eyes remain firmly planted on Diana.

She meets his gaze.

And then they are reformulating, planning, running.

Hoping to save the world from itself.

* * *

**02\. The war comes to an end.**

The celebration in London is extraordinary.

Steve finds himself standing next to Diana, observing the crowd from the balcony they're both currently situated on. Getting the treaty signed wasn't the easiest of processes, the last several days amounting to a blur of meetings, politics, and highfalutin jargon that left him in a daze after the constant adrenaline-laden state he had found himself in during the war. Even as the cheers of the crowd reach his ears, it's difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that the war is finally over. Not because he has any desire to keep it going, _obviously_ , but because after four years of war — he can hardly remember what the world is like during times of peace.

But, perhaps, it's a feeling he can easily reacquaint himself with.

(Or, so he hopes.)

He still has the creeping sensation that everything so far has been nothing but a fever dream. That, if he were to take his eyes off the crowd for just a moment, it would disappear and the armistice would turn out to be a sham. That, if he were to pull away from the warmth of Diana's shoulder against his own, he would discover that the Princess of Themyscira is a hallucination and he has succumbed to the maladies that plague the soldiers that come home after witnessing one tragedy too many.

But even when he blinks and fidgets in his place, nothing happens. This is real. Peace is no longer a faraway dream.

Sir Patrick had shot him an unreadable look as he absconded from the Imperial War Cabinet's own celebration, but Steve could hardly bring himself to care when there is better company to surround himself with. Particularly, the woman standing beside him, her warmth a comforting presence even as the mid-November chill settles into his bones.  Thicker clothes have become less of a choice and more of a necessity, at this time of the year.

Diana's gaze is fixed on the crowd below.  People are waving flags and napkins, newspapers are being sold, and soldiers sweep their beloved off their feet. It takes her a moment to notice Steve's stare, and then she is giving him a smile. It's not the same as the one she used to display before, when they had stepped off the boat that carried them from the shores of Themyscira to the docks of jolly, old London — but it's still one that makes the beating of his heart speed up and his insides turn to mush. It's beautiful.

 _She's_ beautiful.

"They're happy," she says, a quiet observation as the smile remains on her lips. "I hadn't considered this city could look so..."

"So...?" he parrots, raising an eyebrow as she trails off. He watches her tap her fingers against the balustrade, a nervous tick as she attempts to find a word to describe the sight. When she remains silent for a moment too long, he hazards a guess. "So," he repeats, "So not hideous?"

Her response is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, her fingers stilling.  He doesn't doubt she remembers her initial reaction to the city, her voice dripping with disgust as she laid her eyes on the smoke filled skies and dirty buildings for the first time. "Yes," she replies, "I suppose _not hideous_ is fitting."

As he glances back towards the crowd, he wonders what she sees that has made her change her mind. The sights are still the same as before. The city's architecture has not changed.  The only difference is the memorial that has been added near the center of the crowd; a collection of photographs and letters, in honor of the soldiers that lost their lives during the war. 

"Then you've warmed up to London?" he asks.

"No," she tells him, though not unkindly. "But the people— They have changed. I can see their _hope_ now."

He doesn't need to examine the crowd again to know exactly what she means.

After all, it's something he's currently experiencing himself. _Hope._ A dangerous, wonderful thing.

An armistice is just an armistice. But in this moment, it's more than enough.

* * *

**03\. Things seem to be okay — until they're not.**

Ludendorff may not have been Ares, but that doesn't mean Diana was wrong about his existence.

"I thought I had lost you," she tells him, covered in cuts and bruises and too many injuries for Steve to properly take inventory of.

"That," he says, an old fear gripping at his throat and forcing its way into his heart. "That should be my line."

( _He can hardly forget the panicked, frightened look on her face as she realized what he planned to do._

_"No," she had said, gripping at his arms with enough force to bruise. "No! Steve, no. I can do this. Let me do this."_

_"I need you to clear a path for me," he had replied instead._

_"Please," she pleaded, unwilling to let go. "The gas— It will not hurt me. I cannot allow this."_

_"I'm sorry we couldn't have more time."_

_There was something else he wanted to say. Something else he_ needed _to say._

 _But the choice, in the end, was taken out of his hands._ )

They find themselves in a tangled mess of limbs the following night.

He draws stifled whimpers out of Diana's mouth, pressing his lips against the small of her back. Her injuries have been tended to. Disinfectant and fresh bandages being more than enough, despite the extent of the damage.  Relief seeps into his system as he physically assures himself of her continued existence.  She is real.  She is here.  She is not going anywhere, even though he doesn't know _what_ she is. 

After all, he had witnessed dozens of amazons succumb to their injuries the day he arrived at Themyscira.  Her resilience is not shared by the rest of her kind, and he cannot begin to fathom why.  Diana is unique in that aspect, he supposes.  If she had been like the others, he wouldn't have found her in one piece after the battle against Ares.  The thought alone is enough to knock the breath right out of him.

But even if he wonders, he cannot bring himself to linger on the question for too long.

"Diana," he says, instead.

There is a sharp inhale of breath, hands clutching at their sheets, and finally — she responds.

"Steve?"

He moves up. Buries his head on the crook between her neck and shoulder.

"I love you."

(When people wonder where Sir Patrick has gone, they say nothing.)

* * *

**04\. Themyscira is still as beautiful and terrifying as it had been the first time he set foot on it.**

But Diana had insisted he accompanied her, and though his mind said _no_ , his mouth (the traitorous thing) said _yes._

The boat ride is strange. Sitting while surrounded by a bunch of warriors who could easily snap him in half — even more so. That is without mentioning the awkwardness that comes from hearing Diana regale her mother and her kin with tales of their exploits.  It's surreal to hear everything laid out factually, Steve feeling less like a person in this room and more like a character in someone's story, up until the queen turns his way.

"The man," Hippolyta says, looking at him like she's currently debating whether to run him through with a sword or not.  Alternatively, perhaps she's considering tossing him back into the very same ocean her daughter rescued him from. "He has not told the others of our location?"

Diana, on the other hand, looks like this is not the first time she's had to endure her mother's questioning. There is a tilt to her lips, fondness and exasperation mixing together to form her current expression. It makes sense, he thinks, considering the way Diana had ran after the queen moments after Steve's interrogation. "Mother," she responds, "I trust him with my life. He has not breathed a word of our location — this I can guarantee you."

For a moment, he wonders if this is how most men feel upon formally introducing themselves to their girlfriend's father. Sweaty, terrified, living in fear of sharp, pointy weapons. Though — the last one seems like a problem he, specifically, has to deal with.

Hyppolita's expression is an eerie mirror of Diana's own. They are mother and daughter, indeed. Her look of disappointment as she sizes him up is similarly identical, and so is the nondescript hum she gives her daughter as she turns back to look at her. "Very well, Diana," she replies, after a pause that spoke volumes about judgment and displeasure. "But know that he is _your_ responsibility."

It strikes him as funny (in the hysterical way that one would find staring down at a gun _funny_ ) that she would say that. From the very beginning, they have been each other's responsibilities.

Diana spares him a glance. She knows this as well, but all she says is: "Yes, Mother."

* * *

**05\. He thought she would want to stay among her own people.**

She does not.

He has one foot on the docks when she finds him, mounted on her steed with effortless grace.

"I didn't take you for a man who would spend time admiring the sea," she comments, raising an eyebrow.  When he says nothing, she proceeds to frown at him. "I would hope," she adds, "you are not thinking of leaving without me."

Well, he was. _Well_ , it's not because he _wants_ to. 

It's more of a case of him doing the math, and coming to the conclusion that Diana must feel horribly homesick living her days out in the _world of men_ , as her mother had so lovingly dubbed everything beyond the shores of Themyscira.  When he tells her as much, she gives him an offended look. It takes only a second for her to drop down from her horse, stomping over to him like she's ready to lay waste to a battalion.  It's both terrifying and beautiful.

"You, Steve Trevor," she begins, hands reaching out to grip the lapels of his jacket. "Are a foolish man." Her breath fans against his mouth, their noses nearly touching, and then—

It's needless to say neither of them spends the night without the other.

* * *

**06\. The world carries on.**

And as it does, humanity shows that it is capable of cruelty without receiving aid from a god.

He's older now.  His features are not as youthful as they used to be. Every ache and stiff joint is a reminder of the fact that men are not meant to live forever.  They are ephemeral and fated to live a short stint on this world.  He ages, just as everyone else who accompanied him on his mission to stop Ludendorff and Isabel Maru. 

That is, everyone else _but_ Diana.

It only takes a couple of years for them to notice the fact that, for some reason or another, she simply does not age.  She seems to be frozen in time, not a day over the age he originally met her. Forever young, forever beautiful. And while he knows in his heart she would still be the most gorgeous woman he knows regardless of wrinkles, spots and graying hair — the fact is that she remains the same.  It's jarring to take her hand in his, veins and bones apparent beneath his flesh while her own hand remains youthful and soft. 

Right now, one of her cheeks is pressed against the crook of his shoulder, her hands fisted around the fabric of his shirt.  "I thought..." she begins, trailing off for a moment before resuming her statement. "I thought this would never happen again.  I defeated _Ares_ , so why—?"

He shakes his head, exhaling slowly and repeating the very same words he uttered to her on that watchtower.  Decades feel more like days at this moment.

"Maybe it's not Ares," he tells her, knowing this to be the truth.  "Maybe it's _us_ , Diana.  Maybe it's just the way we are."

It doesn't really make things less disappointing.  It doesn't help make them less painful, either. 

But the world, as always, carries on.

* * *

**07\. They, too, carry on.**

Diana still looks at him with the same sparkle in her eye.  She's beautiful. _Breathtaking_. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve her, and quite possibly, he will never find out.  Time goes forward, the world changing with each passing year, and he cannot imagine a world where Diana is not by his side and he is not by hers.

"Doesn't it bother you to be seen with me?" he asks her one day, as they sway to the tune of the music.  His voice is the slightest bit rough, a rattling cough that persisted throughout the wee hours of the morning leaving his throat raw.  The smog from the factories and the coal, they say, is quite bad for the lungs.  Unfortunately, there's no escaping it when one lives in the city.

But if Diana is bothered by his voice, it's probably buried under her consternation at his question.  " _No_ ," she says firmly, tightening her hold on his hand and shoulder.  "I would never be embarrassed to be seen with you.  Not in a hundred lifetimes."

Later, duty calls — as it always does.  He's past his days of participating in fisticuffs, but it is another matter entirely for Diana.  When the world beckons, the most needy and vulnerable needing her aid, she answers. 

He kisses her, one of his hands cupping her cheek, and then he tells her:

" _Go._ "

* * *

**08\. If given the chance to change everything, Steve Trevor would happily crash into the waters of Themyscira all over again.**

(And if given the chance to change her past, Diana would still live the rest of her life loving Steve Trevor.

That is all that truly matters.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on: [tumblr](http://carcinology.tumblr.com/) • [twitter](https://twitter.com/beheads).


End file.
